Call me whatever you want. Nicknames don't mean anything to me anyway. My classmates have always thought I was weird—or, more accurately, crazy.
Who deserves the blame for me having this sight? My father and mother, for bringing me into this world? They don't believe me either. They just say I watch too many horror movies and let them spill over into reality.
["How can you see them?"]
["Aren't you afraid of them?"]
When I was little, they often called me an amazing child who could sense and see the spirits of the dead. But as I grew older, I realized they often talked about me behind my back and called me a liar—or someone who wasn't quite right in the head.
Since then, I've preferred to stay quiet. Just like yesterday, when I heard an old woman's voice telling me to go home and not come here. But what could I do when even my own family didn't believe what I said?
"Naeswari can start at her new school tomorrow," Dad said, jolting me out of my thoughts over breakfast.
"Nalesha and Naes will be going to the same school, so I hope—"
"Naes can ride her bike, Dad. It's not that far to school anyway," Mas Nalesha cut in, clearly unwilling to give me a ride.
"It's okay, Dad. I can ride my bike to school. You don't have to trouble Mas Nalesha," I replied, not bothering to look at my second-oldest brother, who loved to annoy me.
"Be careful. The downhill stretch to the road is a little slippery. You should just walk. I'm afraid you'll fall," Mom said, going overboard with her concern.
Mas Nalesha didn't want to give me rides anymore. He claimed he was afraid to be alone with me, and it really was my fault. I hadn't realized it when he was giving me a ride to school, but we'd seen a married couple on a motorbike.
[Mas, be careful. Don't speed. Otherwise we'll end up like the people next to us.]
Not long afterward, when the light turned green, a car coming from the opposite direction hit the couple as they sped forward. After that, Mas Nalesha refused to take me anywhere unless Mas Saga came along too.
"When are you starting your hospital duties, Dad?"
"I have a shift this afternoon. Why do you ask, Saga?"
I didn't join their conversation. Dad was a doctor, while Mom had once been a teacher but quit for good after giving birth to me. My two brothers could be considered fairly close to me, but we weren't enemies.
The only things I was truly close to were the movies and novels filling my room. I had no friends, so those things kept me company.
"Thanks for the food, Mom." Even though Aunt Rum and her daughter Ratna were here, Mom still cooked for us.
At first, Mom hadn't wanted anyone to help her. She'd always done everything herself. But now the two loyal housekeepers of Grandfather, who had passed away, would be staying with us—more precisely, in the back area of the property.
"Oh, right, Mom. Where are my novels and movies?" I stopped walking, suddenly realizing that the two boxes containing them hadn't been in my room last night.
"I told Mr. Hasan to take them to the storage shed."
"I'll get them, Mom," I said, walking toward the backyard.
"What do you even need that stuff for? It just makes your room feel cramped," Mas Nalesha remarked, clearly annoyed that I was bringing those things with me.
"Just leave your sister alone, Nalesh," Dad said in my defense.
I didn't want to answer anymore. It was better to hurry and get my things from the storage shed.
Dew still clung to the grass as I stood on the back terrace, staring at the old building in the distance. The storage shed stood solidly in the corner of the garden, flanked by tall trees that seemed to hide me from view. The warm morning sun felt pleasant against my skin, but the building's shadow sent a wave of unease through me.
Dad said this storage building had been here long before the house was built. I don't know. It just felt strange to me. Why had the shed been built first?
"It's just an old shed. There's definitely nothing in there," I whispered to myself.
I started across the garden, the wet grass cold against the soles of my feet. The closer I got to the shed, the sharper my feelings about the old building became. Its large wooden door looked sturdy, and the dusty windows kept me from seeing clearly inside.
"Relax, Naes. Nothing's going to happen," I told myself.
With trembling hands, I reached for the cold wooden doorknob. A strange sensation spread across my back, making my hair stand on end. Something was wrong with this place, but I couldn't explain what.
"It's just an old shed," I muttered, though the words did nothing to drive away my anxiety.
As my hand was about to turn the knob, something invisible stopped me—a force both gentle and strong, holding my wrist in place.
"What's wrong with my hand?" I felt a cold sensation prickle across my skin.
Frowning in confusion, I tried to pull my hand back, but I couldn't. My heart pounded. The door seemed to be refusing to open. Maybe something, or someone, didn't want me to go inside.
And then, in the strange morning silence, I heard a soft voice—a woman's aged voice, whispering in Javanese. It came from behind the door, sounding like a whisper dragged along by the wind.
"Cah Ayu, ojo mlebu. Ojo bukak lawang iki." Ayu... don't go in... don't open this door...